


Shifting, Becoming

by the_nerd_word



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Fate, Multi, POV Sasuke, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sexual Content, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nerd_word/pseuds/the_nerd_word
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's grief in the aftermath of the fourth shinobi war, and Sasuke has returned to a village he's not sure he can rightfully call home. Faced with nightmares and dreams, with chances to escape, he begins to doubt the value of reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post/publish this story in part or in whole anywhere else.

Dawn is a humble shade of pink when Sasuke opens his eyes. There’s something like a gasp in his throat, a precipice of breath that shudders when he inhales.  His right hand is shoved between the couch cushions, fingers wrapped around the hilt of a concealed kunai like it can fight off the last dredges of his nightmare. He exhales, counts to three, then inhales again; steadier now, better than before. It’s easy to focus on that, and he treats breathing like an anchor, a focal point past the monster sleep had wrought. His knuckles are blanched when he finally withdraws his hand, veins blue like little lines on a map. 

He doesn’t have to look up to realize he isn’t alone, can recognize that fire-bright presence anywhere. Still, Sasuke waits a few moments to speak, reserving some privacy in the silence. He slides his feet to the floor and rests his elbow on his knee, feeling almost weathered. The weapon gleams as he sets it aside on an end table.  Another purposeful breath, this one almost perfect. “I’m fine,” he greets.

Naruto shifts in the doorway to the living room, and every line of him is muted in the early light. “I wanted to wake you, but...” He sounds partially apologetic, but he motions toward Sasuke, toward still taut muscles and faint beads of sweat. “Didn’t want to get stabbed.”

Sasuke hums shortly instead of replying. He can’t deny the mild accusation, not when it’s a very real possibility. For all that they’re only nineteen years old, they’re veterans now, and survival isn’t a forgiving trait. He shrugs, and part of him, a part he isn’t so sure about, wants to pick up the kunai again.

“You were yelling,” Naruto adds quietly, like it’s a confession, and Sasuke feels his stomach roll as he looks up and rubs his left eye absently.

Naruto stands like a guard despite being half-naked, light on his feet, stare so careful. He was a gale during the war, but now he’s a more than that, a force that can soothe just as easily as careen. He’s Konoha’s prize, and although his teenage years granted him hard eyes and crisscrossing scars, he is still… something good. Quick to parade his love for his home and its people. Quick to accept.

Sometimes, when Sasuke looks at him, he still sees the Valley of the End, and he feels ashamed for it. He doesn’t know if that will ever change, or if he wants it to. “I apologize if I woke you.”

“Dummy,” Naruto sighs, accenting the word with a patient smile. He reaches down and picks up the blanket Sasuke had kicked off in the middle of the night. He starts to fold it, makes a face, then just tosses it over the back of the couch. “You want to talk about it?”

Splintered floorboards, splintered nails, splintered veins. Toes sticky with blood and air veiled by humidity. Itachi’s words like some pulse, _run away, run away, cling to life_. “No.” Wants to spit, actually, because he swears fear has a taste.

There’s silence, and Naruto begins to show some concern, so Sasuke does his best to prevent any inflection when he says, “The Uchiha massacre.”

Naruto blinks. “Oh,” he starts eloquently. “I’m sorry. Shit.”

“I’m fine,” Sasuke repeats tiredly. “It was long ago.” Over a decade, now, each year grayer than the last.

Naruto narrows his eyes, and the effect is dramatized as morning light creeps through the windows and brightens the tacky, patterned drapery. “Alright,” he mutters, shooting a quick glance at the kunai, and it’s clear he’s torn between prying and respecting the delicacy of the topic. “Since we’re both up, might as well get a start on the day. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Naruto is nodding before Sasuke finishes the two words, knows the answer before he has to hear it. “Mind if I take the first shower?”

“It’s your house, dobe. As I’ve said. Multiple times.”

Naruto snorts loudly and tugs at the seat of his boxers as he meanders back toward his bedroom. “Fine, fine, see if I’m courteous from now on.”

A pause, a beat of time, and Naruto’s at the end of the hall already. “Hey,” Sasuke starts, and he doesn’t know how to finish.

Naruto glances back over his shoulder. “Hm? What?”

He notices the gentle curve of Naruto’s throat, the way his shoulders have broadened since the war ended. He tries not to notice anything else. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I’ll make breakfast. Don’t use up all the hot water.”

Naruto snorts and wrinkles his nose, but he drops the conversation— the slip, more like, Sasuke thinks, scowling even as he feels a faint blush on his cheeks like some sort of physiological admonishment. He waits until he can hear the water running, then he stands and straightens the couch cushions, folds the blanket to perfect angles despite only having one arm.

The next fifteen minutes are routine, mindless in the way that routine often is. He washes his hand with a generous amount of soap before setting aside slices of pork and readying a pot for green tea, the latter of which he knows Naruto will steadfastly ignore. His thoughts stray as he sets the table, and he thinks about how it is entirely unfair that a dream can provide so many details of the past when his own efforts cannot. He wishes he could remember other things, simpler things, better things, and it’s childish but he doesn’t really care. 

Naruto’s footfalls are heavy when he enters the kitchen, and Sasuke can tell by the way his pants cling to his calves that there are likely puddles of water left on the bathroom floor. They switch rooms without a word, one humming and the other sighing, still set in routine.

By the time Sasuke returns from his own shower, breakfast is on the table. He takes his usual seat across from Naruto and slicks his hair back before it can drip on his plate. Naruto’s mouth is already full, and Sasuke counts it as a blessing when the dopey smile he receives is close-mouthed.  

As they eat, the village slowly wakes up around them. Sasukes’ stare flickers to the window frequently, noting the sight blur of patrols as they travel across rooftops. Seven months have passed since Kaguya was sealed away, and in the wake of her defeat there’s weariness in the world. The village is a constant work in renovation, but much of it is stunted, funds tight in a way they never have been, all the great nations struggling to delegate priorities when hunger is competing with unmanned borders and lingering grief and orphaned children and rampant crime— Sasuke catches himself continuing that list and forces himself to stop. His appetite ebbs, but he ignores this, too, and forces himself to keep eating.

“Hey, hey,” Naruto chimes, leaning forward, looking far too smug despite the early hour and the single grain of rice sticking to his chin. “Your hair’s a mess.”

Sasuke arches one brow, unamused. “So’s your lifestyle.”

“I mean it!” Naruto laughs. “I always used to think it was some weird Uchiha magic that makes your hair do the crazy,” he motions with his hands, “anti-gravity, rocker look, but you have to style it, don’t you?”

Sasuke tries not to scowl. He really does. Considers it a battle well fought when he refrains from rolling his eyes. “Naruto, it’s hair. There’s no magic.”

“I know that now. I’ve seen you in the mornings.”

Sasuke releases a slow, tempered breath. “You’re such a moron. Eat your breakfast.”

“When did you have time to fix it on missions? Because I never saw—”

“Just shut the fuck up.”

Naruto sniggers, irrationally pleased, and reaches for more pork. “So,” he begins, as if Uchiha hair is a perfect segue, “today new legislation is being drafted to accommodate international clan integration. Kakashi-sensei wants me to sit in on the meeting. Should be interesting." He takes a large bite of meat and continues between efforts to chew. It's gross; Sasuke looks away. "And Hinata and I talked about getting lunch afterward. Never really settled on a time, though, so I’m not sure about that.”

“Hm.”

“What about you?” Naruto inquires casually, for once using his damn napkin. “What’re you going to do today?”

Sasuke knows he should have expected the question, the quick, easy turnaround of curiosity, but he’s still stuck. He falls on repetition. “I don’t know. Train, probably.”

Naruto sighs and rests his chin on one palm. “Look, I’m all for training, you know that. But don’t you think you should pay some of our friends a visit? You’ve been back in the village for nearly a week and all you’ve done is sit around the house or train by yourself." He fumbles with his chopsticks for a moment, the plastic clicking together. "Tsunade has your arm finished, by the way. In case, you know, you want two arms again.”

“I’m not their friend, Naruto,” Sasuke says quietly, then switches the topic before Naruto can immediately protest, "and the arm can wait another day or two." He takes a bite, chews perfunctorily, and swallows. He thinks the rice is a bit undercooked but knows he shouldn’t say so, especially with the way Naruto is suddenly watching him, lips pressed together in a flat line and eyes trying to match.

“Let’s get back to that,” Naruto tells him, words like a suggestion only the tone is anything but. “What about Sakura, though? What about that whole conversation at the main gate, when you said—”

“I know what I said,” Sasuke cuts in, and he looks aside to grab the salt if only to avoid his friend’s stare. He remembers the day well, how the sun’s warmth managed to sidle through most of the winter chill. Sakura and Kakashi standing there, both giving him that _look_ , expressions he’ll always associate with Team Seven and maybe something more, some complicated emotion he doesn’t want to think about because then he’ll inevitably think about other things, days from _before_. And Sakura—

“Okay,” Naruto hedges, like he’s waiting for a follow-up.

“Okay.”

Naruto stills, then fidgets, like acting out a scene. He scrunches up his face and whines, “Then… what?”

Sasuke sighs. “I don’t know,” he admits.

Naruto’s scoff is loud and nothing short of exasperated. “What _do_ you know?” And in a gentler tone, “She doesn’t expect anything. Not really. But… don’t ignore her, man. She’s asked about you. Lots of people have.”

“I won’t,” he says. No real intention of following through, not yet, but at least the words will keep the subject at bay for a while longer. “I’m just not sure what I want to say. Or what I want.” And that’s probably more than he should have admitted, but hell, it’s true. He takes a sip of his tea, watching his old teammate over the rim, and makes an amendment. “I’ll report to Kakashi today. After your meeting with him.”

Naruto’s expression goes blank, and he spares a few blinks toward the table before he hums shortly. “Yeah. You should. I think,” a pause, a chance to play with his food while he gathers his thoughts, “he’s been trying to give you time. Readjustment, or something. But— a week, Sasuke. He was our team sensei, but he’s also _Hokage_ now. There’s a duty.”

“I know that,” Sasuke grumbles, frustrated with the careful tone his teammate is using. He understands, too, that there’s more to it. There’s a justified wariness to complement Sasuke’s return, because despite his role in ending the war, he spent the better part of a year plotting against Konoha, plotting against this home-not home then home again. Frankly, he’s surprised he was accepted back so quickly, but it’s not like they could hold him anyway, not with the war only recently ended and peace being a new and precarious thing. He suspects that the only reason he hasn’t been ordered to make an official report sooner is because nobody, not even Kakashi, quite knows what to make of him. And that’s— not the best feeling. But deserved, he tells himself. Expected. “I just said I was going.”

“Yeah. I know. I just meant...”

Sasuke waves his hand and glances back toward the window, but there’s nothing new to see.

“We’re a fuckin’ pair, aren’t we?” Naruto asks suddenly, massaging his own scalp, head low and blue eyes looking up. Grin on his face like the fox’s, and Sasuke can’t help but smirk, can’t help the way it almost turns into a smile.

“What’s new,” he says flatly.


	2. Directions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to seberu for beta work!

There’s a sense of security in traveling unseen across Konoha’s red slats. No stares, no questions, and no real hurry, just easy steps and a light breeze on the rooftops. The Hokage’s tower is a solid dome in the near distance, a beacon of importance amidst reconstruction. Its very structure tugs at Sasuke like an old scar, and within its walls, past the terra cotta brick that’s a few shades lighter than he remembers, he can feel the crackle and simmer of familiar chakra signatures.

He lands soundlessly at the entrance, adjusting his weight so that his stance is partial to one hip when he straightens. Habit makes him want to rest his hand at his waist. It’s something that has stuck with him since his time in Sound, and like every other predictable thing about himself, he dislikes it.

A gleam on the front door cuts Sasuke’s reflection in half. It’s cliché enough to be kind of amusing, kind of annoying. As he stares at the bisection, he wonders why he let Naruto talk him into coming here. Truthfully, he would have been comfortable staying in the apartment for another week, holed up in the living room on that lumpy-ass couch with some boring albeit useful academic scroll. Which is basically what he’s been doing up until now, which he supposes isn’t very responsible. But fuck it, whatever.

The tower lobby is sparsely furnished. There are two plants by the entrance, an ugly painting on the far wall, and a line of stiff, practical seats for guests, two of which are occupied. On the left is a front desk shaped like the end of an oval, and the woman behind it smiles as soon as the door opens. It’s a practiced look, warm and at-ease and well short of her eyes. “Good afternoon,” she greets. “How may I help you?”

Sasuke eyes the stairwell beyond and considers walking past her. Thinks about the trouble that might cause and decides he doesn’t want to deal with it. Not on his first visit. “I’m here to see the Hokage.”

The receptionist tilts her head as she considers him. “Do you have an appointment?” She doesn’t even bother looking down at her book— probably has the whole day memorized. It’s fucking rude. He would’ve done the same.

“No.”

“I can deliver a message for now, but I can’t guarantee you’ll be seen without an appointment,” she informs him, her tone this false and unpleasant thing before it drops into something more real. “Unless this is urgent?” She never even asks for his name, but of course she already knows.  Everyone knows.

Irritation tightens Sasuke's chest, and he has to fight it down, quell the feeling until it’s just some warm weight in the pit of his stomach, a harmless and brief irrationality. “No, it’s not. Tell him I’m here to report in.”

“I’d be happy to. One moment.” She doesn’t look away as she scribbles a quick, crisp note. After she sets the pen down, she brings her hands together to form a simple seal; there’s a small pop, a curl of smoke, and then she smiles at him again. “The Hokage should receive the message shortly. You may wait here.”

Sasuke nods and takes a seat in the corner, angling himself slightly so that his left shoulder is a few inches further back. He feels strangely childish; as simple as this, his day is reduced to instructions, to appointments and waiting rooms, and it is so very…

Not quite demeaning, but something close to it.

He watches people to pass time. An old veteran shinobi sits closest to the front desk, gnarled hands steady even though he routinely reaches down to massage his bare knees. Across from the man, a woman in civilian clothes struggles to fill out paperwork while a toddler squirms impatiently in her lap. The little girl has those strange Inuzuka pupils (though the woman, Sasuke notes, does not), and when she spots Sasuke, she wrinkles her nose at his empty sleeve. A few other people pass through the lobby, but he doesn’t recognize anyone, and the toddler is just as shameless in her staring as Sasuke is.

It doesn’t take long to get an appointment. Feels like forever, though. He’s told to take the stairs to the third floor; four doors down, on the right. It’s the same from his days as a genin, but he listens anyway. He doesn’t thank the receptionist and she doesn’t seem to care.

Sasuke passes one ANBU guard as he nears the top of the stairs, but otherwise the corridor is empty. He doesn't feel any other presences nearby that would indicate security, but he's not foolish enough to believe the tower isn't heavily monitored. Nothing is numbered, not even the simple utility closet he passes. He knocks once on the correct door, a quick rap of knuckles before he turns the handle, shoulders back like he’s facing poor odds, and enters. The door closes behind him with a soft click like some kind of demur pronouncement.

Kakashi is slouching in the Hokage’s chair, eyes half-lidded as he drags a loosely held pen over one form. He doesn’t look up when Sasuke walks over, just sighs with his shoulders and moves on to another document.

Seconds pass, followed by more, and Sasuke realizes he doesn’t know what to say – what he should say, given how their roles have changed so drastically over the years. The silence is awkward, a stretch of _unknown_ that permeates his thoughts and is translated into a blank stare while he waits, wonders, wavers.

And Kakashi, being Kakashi, decides to cut that bullshit pretty efficiently and without any warning. “Yo, Sasuke.”

He doesn’t know why he had expected something more dramatic. The famous copy-nin has always had a particular… brand of personality. He's bizarre, frequently tardy, lazy, and perverted.

Reliable, too, when it really counts. Loyal and strong and cunning.

Dangerous.

Sasuke thinks in chronological patterns when he looks at his old sensei. He remembers that first morning, the unimpressive way the jounin had handled three brats; then the dogged determination, the chase, when Kakashi was a teacher who had lost a student; and finally those last few months, Kakashi like weather-hounded ground against all of Sasuke’s vindication, cool and unyielding (and still so natural, a piece of home), but charged.

This is new territory, but Kakashi is still a part of it. So it’s familiar, in a way. That has to count for something, despite Sasuke’s inability to predict the man.

“Yo,” Sasuke returns, deadpan, feeling tension slowly leave his shoulders. He takes a seat off-center to the Hokage’s desk and crosses his ankles. “It smells like dog in here.”

Kakashi looks woefully offended. “I’m suffering,” he says on a sigh, placing one hand on his heart while motioning weakly toward the formidable stack of paperwork on his desk with the other, “and you choose to insult me. I’m not sure I missed you.”

Sasuke almost laughs. Clears his throat with a little “hn” so he doesn’t. “The feeling’s mutual,” he lies casually. He spares a quick, sweeping glance of the room. Caught in a gleam from the window, Konoha sprawls across the countryside, a warm clash of reds and yellows and greens that only end with the sharp cliff face. Kakashi, in comparison, seems paler than usual. “Where’s the hat? It suited you.”

Kakashi’s expression grows more woeful, if anything. “I only wear it for official business. It makes me feel old.” He immediately holds up a hand. “Don’t say it.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Sasuke assures with a smirk. His sharingan swirls briefly as he glances around the office, noting the headlines of the papers Kakashi is working his way through, the thinning material on the back of the Hokage’s official seat. He observes, he memorizes, and he lets his eyes return to normal.

“I knew I’d hate this damn job,” Kakashi says, watching Sasuke closely. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re that interested in it either, but you’re looking awfully curious about everything in here.”

It’s a weak inquiry, but it serves its purpose.

“I don’t stall,” Sasuke argues.

“Of course not.”  

Sasuke presses his tongue to the back of his teeth. Relaxes only when he has that familiar flare of annoyance pushed down again. “I returned last week,” he informs, well-aware that Kakashi already knows but still wanting some kind of introduction, a transition into a conversation he doesn’t really want to host. “I’m reporting in, now.”

“Maa,” Kakashi drawls, and begins to flip through a folder with idle fingers. His knuckles are slightly swollen. “So report.”

Simplicity has always suited Sasuke. He starts from the beginning, keeping his tone neutral. “I traveled to the Land of Waves, then went north by ship along Whirlpool’s coast until I reached Lightning. After that, I stayed in Otogakure for a while.” He pauses, curious if Kakashi will have any questions, but none are forthcoming. “From there, I traveled across the woodlands of Fire and eventually made my way west,” he concludes, noting the blank look his succinctness has earned him, the pointed lack of satisfaction.

“All that time gone,” Kakashi murmurs, “and you give me directions.” He lightly taps the nearest paper with his index finger once, twice. Before Sasuke can comment, he adds, “You took unusual routes.”

Sasuke wonders if Kakashi already knows, if his appearances in each village were reported back to Konoha, or if Kakashi is simply piecing it all together now; how Sasuke had roughly retraced his footsteps, needing to return to each major stop in his memory without some ulterior drive. Not as a soldier in a mission, and not as a young outlaw set on vengeance. Simply alone, seeing how the world looks when his eyes are clearer. He saw more than he thought he would.

“I think they were valid,” Sasuke replies, careful not to sound defensive.

A few more taps. “And what did you discover on your journey?”

He breathes deeply before answering, and his gaze is drawn to the image of Konoha again. “The state of the world.”

Kakashi watches him for a while. His eyes are knowing, they’re always fucking _knowing_ , and he stares like he’s able to see straight through Sasuke. Hell, maybe he can. “Your verdict?”

“It’s…” Sasuke pauses, breath suddenly tight in his chest, memories like weights. _A child in Grass. Hollow cheeks and dirty hands. Knees covered in blood and pus and flies. A stare that asks too much, a stare that sees self-reflection in the dying dog at the end of the street._ “Not good,” he confides.

Sasuke tries to anticipate the inevitable questions. _Is that all you have to say_? he asks himself, each word carefully enunciated in his old sensei’s voice. _Why should I take you back? How could we ever trust you now?_

Instead, Kakashi tells him, in this horrible, gentle tone, “I know.”

Sasuke straightens in his seat, fighting the urge to fidget. He scowls, seeking something like comfort in letting himself feel a bit of anger. “It doesn’t matter.” He tries to sound nonchalant. Nothing like the guilt settling low and cold in his stomach.

“You don’t really believe that.”

He doesn’t. “That doesn’t matter either. I want missions.”

Kakashi looks surprised. He leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk, and his mask shifts slightly as he huffs out a sigh. “Sasuke, you’re – barely, and some might say _questionably_ – a reformed world criminal, you’re missing your left arm, you’ve only been back in the village for a week after being absent for three years, and you’ve been avoiding everyone except Naruto since then.”

“Yes.”

“And you want missions.”

Sasuke blinks forcefully so he won’t roll his eyes. “Yes.”

“Right,” Kakashi says, as if Sasuke is being unreasonable. Which, okay, maybe the demand is a bit unexpected, but it’s still a step in the right direction. “Don’t you think you’re a bit ahead of yourself?”

“You haven’t had me watched since I’ve been back. Not even checked on by an ANBU patrol. And I wasn’t followed on my trip.”

That had been a surprise, once he realized. He had traveled discreetly between the nations, confident in his ability to stay off the radar, but he had expected to be monitored upon his return to the village. Maybe even restricted, or immediately sentence to some sort of penance. But instead, he was offered privacy. Besides Naruto’s nagging.

Then again, Naruto might _be_ the guard.

It is an unsettling moment of realization.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Kakashi says, and Sasuke has to bring his focus back to the conversation.

“I am sure. I would’ve known.”

Kakashi gives him a flat look, eyes narrowed. “You know, now that I think about it, I’m sure there’s a missing cat somewhere in the village. Mission like that might help with your attitude,” he says lightly.

Sasuke looks aside, then back. Clears his throat. Forces himself to say, “Apologies.”

Kakashi snorts, the sound loud and unflattering. “A mission, huh? Well…” He waves his hand back and forth. “I can’t say we don’t need able shinobi right now. But first, you’ll have to pass a medical evaluation, including a psych eval. You’ll need the transplant to be cleared as well.”

Sasuke nods. “I expected as much. I’ll go to the hospital today.”

Kakashi hums, drawing the vowel out slowly. “Yes. About that – You’ll want to keep your guard up.”

Sasuke frowns, trying to make the connection before he asks, “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Kakashi sighs, as if explaining something elementary, “that you’ve been ignoring one powerful, pink-haired medic.”

Oh, that. “Hn.”

“And I hate to say it,” although Kakashi almost sounds cheerful as he goes on, “but I don’t believe Tsunade likes you very much.”

“I’m aware.” The sannin is pretty high on Sasuke’s _avoid_ list.

Kakashi smiles, eyes closed over the line of his mask. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, though.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Sasuke grumbles. He stands and briefly considers indulging in a formality, a short bow or salute or something, but it doesn’t feel natural. Kakashi seems to notice.

“If that’s all, Sasuke, you’re dismissed. You have a lot to do, and I have reports to sign.”

Sasuke nods and turns to make his leave. It occurs to him that he never saw any of those ridiculous pornographic novels in the office, and he feels a bit grateful that Kakashi is finally too busy with administrative responsibilities to read them. He almost says as much, but decides he shouldn’t chance it. They might be hidden around the room.


	3. The Way It Glinted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the huge delay on this chapter. Real life has gotten busy, and I've been a bit overwhelmed with starting veterinary school, working, and dealing with some cancer scares in my family. I can't guarantee that this will ever be a quick-to-update story, but I do plan on working on it whenever I can.

Despite his conversation with Kakashi, Sasuke didn't go to the hospital right away. Instead, he made every reasonable excuse to delay the confrontation. He dwelled on the mild weather and the changing leaves. Took a fucking _stroll_ through one of the empty training grounds until an unfamiliar genin team showed up for a late morning practice. It was boring, pointless, and easy. 

He could’ve wasted the whole day like that.  

After an hour, though, he huffed a short, quiet breath and had to admit to himself that he was making an ordeal out of nothing. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to avoid more, Sakura or the medical check-up, but he made his way toward the hospital and strode through the front doors with well-managed surety. In appearance, at least. The stares Sasuke received were less than welcome, and for the second time that day he was asked about an appointment. It didn’t matter in the end, because one of the nurses whispered Sakura’s name with a pointed look to her co-workers, and suddenly he was guided through the short hallways to a generic patient room without another word.

Now, five minutes after entering the hospital, Sasuke stares at his old teammate and feels like a coward. 

Sakura is striking. Her face is sharper than it used to be, cheekbones like frames under her green eyes. There’s a natural rosiness to her skin that hadn’t been there during the war. She’s wearing a crisp, white coat, and her hair is pulled back into a short tail. Professionalism isn’t a boring trait on her. She looks older. She looks like a medic who is finally being allowed to heal.

“You should have stopped by sooner,” Sakura tells him quietly. For first words, they’re a weaker consternation than he was expecting to receive.

The room is small, accented by bright lights and the near-stifling scent of disinfectant. Sasuke keeps his breathing shallow, trying not to focus on that smell and how it reminds him of his time with Orochimaru and Kabuto, reminds him of their sterile-stark enthusiasm for experimentation. There are times when he can still sense the ghost of that place, as though some snake-like residue follows him. Usually it’s a smell that’ll bring the memories back, something subtle or something not, like white sage smoke or old fish.

And there are older associations to be had with hospitals. Even now, he anticipates a feeling of loss. And Sasuke knows this is irrational because he’s whole and free and his family is already gone, but the feeling remains.

“I’m here now,” Sasuke tells her tactlessly. He thinks about offering some sort of explanation, but it’s not like the truth behind his delay has any sort of valid ground to stand on; he was tired, and the thought of seeking anyone out only made it worse.

Sakura’s expression flickers from the careful, neutral look she’s worn since she first walked in the room to something just short of anger. Seconds later, resignation takes its place. She grabs a folder from the counter and opens it to the first blank page before setting the paper down again. “I suppose that’s all you’re going to say about it,” she mutters brusquely, as if following his train of thought. She clicks the top of her pen. It’s an obvious outlet for frustration, and Sasuke briefly wonders how many pens snap under her fingers every week. “Your temporary choice of house is unsurprising, so I don’t know why I expected anything different.”

Sasuke frowns and tries to decipher the accusation without success. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Sakura says on a sigh, shaking her head. “Forget it.”

“This isn’t Naruto’s fault.” He feels like he has something to defend, though he’s not sure what. It wasn’t like he could’ve asked to stay with anyone else, and he doesn’t have enough money to rent his own place yet. There used to be an account set aside from the Uchiha’s holdings that he could withdraw from when he was still a kid, but he doubts it still exists. Not after his desertion, and certainly not after the destruction of the past few years.

“Of course it’s not,” she agrees quietly. “It’s nobody’s, really.  I just feel naïve.”

Sasuke blinks and stares, and his confusion is mired with traces of guilt.  “Don’t,” he tells Sakura, sharper than he intends. He almost adds that it has nothing to do with her, but that’s not entirely true. He knows (Naruto’s unnecessary nagging aside) that he left the village on a cliffhanger, that he offered Sakura a line without any real conclusion, but this whole conversation is stunted and fumbling, and he’s not sure how to correct it. So he turns to what is familiar, falls back on old lessons from a time in early childhood when situations were precisely taught, and he abruptly asks, “How are you?”

It’s obvious he’s surprised her, and she hesitates over the transition with a small frown. “Naïve, didn’t you hear me say that?” she asks sarcastically, but before he can even think to roll his eyes she adds, “I’m fine. I’m alright.” She reaches over to put on gloves, and she gives him a funny look as the latex snaps against her wrists. “What kind of question is that anyway?”

“I thought it was polite,” he mutters.

“It’s weird, coming from you.”

Sasuke works his jaw and looks to the side, feeling childish and out of place. He thinks pleasantries are better than arguing at this point and tries not to be annoyed. “Hn.”

Sakura raises her eyebrows and _tsks_ under her breath. “You’re still so serious.” He wants to point out that she was the one to get defensive, but before he can Sakura suddenly shoves a thermometer against his lips. “Open. And sit down on the table.”

Part of him is tempted to laugh. Sakura hasn’t changed much. Her bossiness is old and irritating and endearing in a way he doesn’t understand except to guess that it’s comfortable, maybe. He can feel his lips quirk as he accepts the slender instrument under his tongue, watching as Sakura removes a penlight and a pair of modified glasses from her coat pocket. The thermometer beeps a moment later, and she hardly glances at it before recording the number on his file. “Okay,” she says, her tone somewhere between casual and professional, sliding on the glasses, “stare straight ahead. Any problems with your vision?"

Sasuke blinks as light is suddenly flashed in his eyes. “No.” Not anymore, not after Itachi’s sacrifice. Not after Hagoromo’s efforts. His talents are stolen, but just about perfect.

“Look to your left,” she instructs. “What about bleeding?”

He does as she says. “Not since–” Trembling ground, Susanoo a cradling force at his back, Amaterasu eating away at curling flesh. “Not for a long time.”

Sakura points the penlight down as she stares at him, considering. It takes too long, he thinks. “Alright. Look to your right now.”

He complies, grimacing faintly at the overly cartoonish poster advocating balanced diets on the wall. “How do the glasses help?” he asks, curious, seeking noise.

Sakura snorts and shakes her head slightly. “I’m not sure that they do,” she admits. “The physiology behind your eyes– it would take months of studying for me to really understand them. And I doubt you’d—”

“No.”

She smirks. “Exactly. There aren’t a whole lot of texts on the medical standards for Sharingan users, let alone the Mangekyo. As for the Rinnegan…” Sakura purses her lips, studying his left eye with scrutiny he can’t hold against her. “I doubt we’ll ever know much about it. Not really. Nothing beyond what you discover on your own.” She scratches her cheek by rubbing it on her shoulder absently. “Go ahead and take off your shirt and lie back.”

Sasuke is almost mechanical as he moves, loosening the collar of his shirt before slipping it over his head. He folds the garment carefully before setting it aside and leaning back. The plastic cover of the table is cool and slightly sticky against his skin.

Sakura is strangely expressionless as she watches him, her eyes lingering on the end of his left arm before giving his chest a quick once-over.

Sasuke knows it’s impersonal. Knows that she’s cataloging his scars, probably surprised by how many he’s collected since he defected. He tells himself there’s no point in being modest about any of it. Physical privacy has never really been a concern, but he wonders if the lines across his body look mostly like failures even so.

She stands near his shoulder and raises her hands slowly, almost as if she’s afraid sudden movement might startle him. “I’m going to use chakra to get a general resonance from your organs and your chakra pathways. Try to keep still,” she tells him, and begins before he can so much as nod.

It tickles somewhat. The chakra from her hands pulses like a heartbeat, fluttering steadily beneath his skin, bathing the room in a faint green light. He blinks as her hands pass over his head and face, feeling pressure in his sinuses until she moves on. She occasionally pauses to make a note in his file, using one hand to write as the other continues to collect chakra feedback. She keeps her expression closed-off, stare fluttering from him to her paper and back. 

Her hands aren’t pretty. They’re calloused, and her nails are short and practical. Sasuke trails a glance over the rest of her, thinking once again that she looks so different from before. He feels the length of those three lost years strongly.

There’s a faint hum as she adjusts the medical jutsu, and it’s only slightly louder than her steady breathing. From the other side of the door, the bustle of the hospital is a muted buzz of regular activity. Sasuke pieces these sounds together and tells himself, _Secure_. Repeats it in his head until it sounds less desperate.

“Have you had any problems adjusting?” Sakura asks suddenly, and it’s a gentle tone, the softest she’s used yet.  

Sasuke immediately snaps his gaze from where it had been resting on her cheek. “No.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” she tells him with a sigh.

“Naruto snores so loudly, I can hear it through the walls.”

That earns a laugh from Sakura. It’s short and quiet, but he’s nevertheless pleased. “That’s not what I meant and you know—”

The door swings open without warning, causing Sasuke to instinctively sit up and tense. Tsunade somehow manages to fill the doorway without ever touching its sides. She’s effortlessly imposing, a force in lipstick and two inch heels. Her eyes find him immediately, and he tries to relax under her cold stare, tries to look casual despite being half-undressed and mostly unarmed. Despite the way she’s looking at him like she’s tempted to annihilate a threat.

Sasuke is hesitant not to call her the same **.** He tells himself this displacement is temporary, reminds himself which side of Konoha’s borders he has decided to make his residence. He had sworn to destroy everything she had vowed to defend, after all; all of the posturing is probably justified.

“Uchiha,” Tsunade says crisply. States his name like the curse it’s become.

Something about Sasuke’s surname draws memory to the forefront of his mind. The good, but mostly the bad. There are confrontations he has made shallow efforts to forget about, though his eyes have made that impossible.

The calculation in Tsunade’s glare isn’t unfamiliar, not after the years he spent in Sound and his brief detour through Akatsuki. And there were his fights with Danzo, Deidara, the Raikage, Kabuto… He remembers those fights, can recall them with clarity, the sounds and smells and the  _sight_  of them. His family’s name rolling off their tongues with disdain. The way lightning had rung in some uniform semblance of shrieks; ear-splitting explosions and the spray of blood-soaked dirt; the hissing and slithering of snakes between stalagmites—

“—with you, brat?”

Sasuke realizes his chest is aching faintly, and when he releases his breath he can still feel the leftover impression of Sakura’s hands on his skin. He stares at Tsunade a moment longer, recognizing that her glare has changed, that she’s looking at him now with traces of wariness, of doubt. Sakura is doing the same, though she’s kinder about it, looks more concerned than suspicious. And Sasuke realizes he has no idea what Tsunade just asked him. He shrugs, hoping it’s not obvious. “You should knock.”

Tsunade’s scowl settles back in place. She enters the room and closes the door behind her with more force than is necessary. “Impudence,” she snaps under her breath, not looking at him anymore. Dismissing him, by all appearances (though he doesn’t believe that for a second). “Status?” she asks Sakura.

Something twinges in Sakura’s jaw briefly before she nods. “Physically, he’s sound,” she replies easily, but she’s looking between them uncomfortably, and she clicks her pen again. “Heart rate, respiratory rate, and temperature are normal. Organs seem to be functioning healthily. His chakra pathways…” She pauses, hovering one hand over Sasuke’s eyes, then tapping him softly on the throat and chest. He forces himself to keep still despite his sudden unease. Reminds himself that he can be patient while Sakura gathers her thoughts. He doesn’t lie down again, though. “They’re fine. Strong.”

Tsunade watches her carefully, frowning. “But?”

“They’re unusual. Especially around his eyes. Almost— dark?” Sakura hedges, then lets out a short, self-mocking laugh. “It sounds corny, but they’re certainly nothing like—” She cuts herself off and presses the tips of her fingers against Sasuke’s temples. Sasuke, for his part, tries not to fill in the blank Sakura left. There’s hesitance when he tells himself he’s fine, he’s fine. “I don’t have any experience with the Mangekyou or the Rinnegan,” Sakura admits, her brow wrinkling faintly as she concentrates. “But this feels… coiled.”

Tsunade tuts under her breath and reaches out to place her palm over Sasuke’s eyes. The gesture is quick and heavy, and she takes her hand back before Sasuke can really feel the warmth of it. “Who does, now?” Tsunade asks sarcastically, her voice no less stern, her expression still suspecting.

It’s obvious Sakura was hoping Tsunade would be able to provide her with more information. Sasuke doesn’t know if he’s frustrated or relieved that she can’t or won’t.

Sakura glances between them. “Maybe you should be the one to—”

“No,” Tsunade answers brusquely. “I trust your competence. He’s your patient.”

“But—”

“It’s fine, Sakura,” Sasuke tells her, watching Tsunade, noting the faint flush on her cheeks, the pulse in her throat. He can tell how much she doesn’t want to be in the room, can read her distaste. He knows that look. “My arm?”

Tsunade breathes deeply, her eyes flickering to the end of his elbow. “I don’t think it will work,” she states bluntly.

And Sasuke… doesn’t know how to react. He thinks he feels a measure of surprise at first, some sharp jab of disbelief, because a part of him had casually assumed that the loss of his arm was temporary. But maybe that’s why he’s been avoiding the issue; maybe he knew there’s no replacing what he’s lost. Not family, not time. Certainly, not himself.

(Another, distant part of himself thinks that he should be accustomed to this, to disappointment, to struggling, to always being one step behind Naruto, even after all this time.)

He understands, too, the measure of security Tsunade must feel in knowing that he’s limited this way. The security the whole village will have if he can’t complete his more dangerous hand signals. It’s their sense of safety versus his. It’s their comfort versus his desire to feel like he can defend himself if Konoha’s shinobi decide they can’t trust him after all.

As if reading Sasuke’s thoughts (not his expression, though; that, he keeps well under control), Tsunade shakes her head. “We were able to successfully grow and attach Naruto’s arm largely due to the fox— Kurama.” Her mouth quirks oddly as she corrects herself. “Naruto’s natural chakra is enormous. That, combined with his sage energy and Kurama’s efforts, allowed his body to accept and integrate the new tissue. It wasn’t – isn’t – perfect, but I was able to use my grandfather’s cells as a basis for construction.”

Sakura, to her credit, looks surprised. “But Sasuke has the Rinnegan, not to mention his own chakra. Surely that ought to count for something.”

Sasuke almost bites his tongue. “Half,” he mutters. “It’s the Yin power. Only half.”

Sakura blinks, giving a curious, “Oh?” while Tsunade leans back against the single counter with her arms crossed. “I’ve used stem cells to create the blueprints of an arm specific to you,” Tsunade explains. “But I doubt the application will work, like I said. It’s a complicated medical jutsu.”

“I understand,” Sasuke tells her stoically, wondering why he so foolishly put faith in Naruto’s earlier assurances that the arm was ready to go. He reaches for his shirt, ignoring the looks Sakura is giving them both. It’s not an effort to tell himself to move on, that nothing has changed, but there’s bitterness coating every thought. 

Sakura sighs loudly, drawing out the sound as long as she can. She sets both pen and folder aside. “Wait, Sasuke. I still need blood and urine samples from you.” She turns on Tsunade quickly, who narrows her eyes and looks prepared to argue. “Tsunade-sama, may I speak with you in private later?”

“Tch.” Tsunade turns and opens the door, smiling dryly as she glances over her shoulder. It’s a sour look. A distasteful expression. “Sure, sure. Just be sure to bring your own drink.”

Then they’re alone again, Sakura rolling her eyes halfheartedly, Sasuke wanting to leave. It isn’t weird, not really, but it’s not comfortable either. Sakura waits until the door is fully closed before methodically opening a drawer and removing a vacutainer set and a syringe, her deft fingers quick to remove the caps and twist the plastic into place. “I’m sorry about that,” she tells him as she wets a square piece of gauze and wipes it in small circles against his skin.

“It’s not your fault.” He keeps his tone smooth. Watches as she confidently slides the needle into the crook of his elbow.

“I know that, but…” The tube quickly fills with blood, and she withdraws the needle before placing a cotton ball over the entry point. “You know, sometimes I wonder if—” Her stomach growls, and it’s just as loud as her sigh was. She frowns even as she begins to blush. “Well, that was obnoxious.”

Sasuke raises both brows and gives her stomach a pointed look. “Did you eat?”

“Technically, I’m on my lunch break right now,” she grumbles.

Oh. He supposes that’s why she was able to see him so quickly. “You should eat,” he says, realizing immediately how awkward it sounds.

Sakura snorts as she gently tilts the tube of his blood from side to side, though she looks amused. “I’ll be fine.”

Sasuke suddenly thinks of his conversation with Naruto at breakfast, of reassurances and the main gate and the way the sun had glinted off of the natural highlights in Sakura’s hair. He grinds his teeth gently as he deliberates, feeling something like a fool as he watches Sakura remove a plastic-wrapped cup from a drawer. “Hey.”

She looks over, curious. “Hm? What?”

“We should… get dinner.”

Sakura blinks, and for once her expression is difficult to read. She stares at him for a moment, clearly trying to read him in return. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” she says quietly. “Just because of what I said earlier. I’d rather you didn’t.”

“It’s not that,” Sasuke says, a bit too quickly. And it’s not, at least not entirely. He has second-guessed himself so many times throughout his life, but this— this has to be right. “I want to.”

Her smile is fragile, faint, friendly. “Oh. Well— sure. Yes. But I work evening shifts every day this week. Maybe we could get breakfast instead? I’m free,” she pauses, looking up at the ceiling and tilting her head to the side as she thinks, “the morning after tomorrow. If you are?”

Sasuke nods, feeling relief settle in his stomach. Something else, too, some off-setting sensation, though he’s not sure what. He briefly wonders what Naruto would call it. “I’ll meet you at your place at eight. You can choose the restaurant. I don't care where we go.”

Sakura clearly hesitates then. Her smile, as small as it is, dims, which Sasuke doesn’t understand at all. But she says, “Okay, sounds good. My apartment is on the corner of Second and Persimmon, by the new weapons shop.”

He doesn’t know the place, hasn’t taken the time to explore Konoha’s new streets in any depth, but he trusts it won’t be difficult to find. “Alright.”

She flexes her fingers around the little cup in her hand and glances at it with a little laugh. “So anyway, here. There’s a bathroom down the hall, to your right. Try to fill the cup to the white line. You can place the cup in the little window when you’re finished.”

Sasuke nods, trying to focus on the way that laugh sounded. He wonders if there’s anything special about it, if there should be. The cup is awkward in his hands, and “goodbye" would only be worse, so he doesn’t say anything else and turns to leave.

Breakfast... might be a good start, he thinks. It'll be casual, and they can catch up without the pressure of acting their way through an evening. Not that Sasuke thinks there will be any pretenses between them, not when they spent the better part of their childhoods together, not when she knows some of the worst things about him. The rest, he'll keep to himself. There are some heights to his shame that he will never share. 

But breakfast is about starting a day off well, and Sasuke can look forward to that.

He’s about five steps from the restroom door when he hears the despairing shout. The confusion, the demand. Just around the corner where the sign indicates “ICU,” a loud, breaking, “Why can’t you help him?”

The voice is faintly familiar. Sasuke freezes outside the bathroom, listening. He feels strangely detached as he tries to place the voice to a face or a memory.

“Please, sir, you need to calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” A crash, the sound of plastic and papers hitting the floor. “It’s been months! _Months!_ ”

“Sir, if you can’t—”

“Kotetsu!” This time it’s Tsunade’s voice, and it’s sharp and authoritative but quiet, quieter than everything else. Sasuke frowns as he suddenly remembers the chūnin. “Enough. Your behavior is entirely inappropriate. There are other patients.”

“I don’t give a damn!” Kotetsu yells, only this time it sounds weaker. “I want— _help_ ,” he pleas, something desperate in his tone. “I want to know why Izumo won’t wake up.”

“We’re doing all that we can. You know that.”

And there’s a sniffle, a cut off sob. A broken sound. “You’re supposed to the best, Tsunade-sama. I just want him to wake up. _Izumo_ …”

Sasuke takes those last five steps quickly after that. He pees, deposits the little cup in the designated cubby, and gets the hell out of there, tuning out the sounds of the hospital as best as he can.

He goes back to a home that’s not really his. Later that evening, Naruto returns. He asks about Sasuke's day, all strained, feeble smiles, and Sasuke can’t bring himself to wonder why. He is rude to Naruto, and he knows it. After several stunted attempts at conversation, Naruto scowls and retreats to his bedroom, and Sasuke is left alone to brood on the couch.

It’s a cold night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the character hopping will stop soon. There is a plot.  
> 


	4. Summer Colors

Cicadas chirp loudly from their places along the trees, a cacophony of restless life in mid-summer heat. Theirs is the first call Sasuke hears as awareness seeps into place.

He startles out of a slouch with a quick breath, reflexively leaning forward into a wary stance and taking reassurance in the familiar red-hot feel of chakra streaming into his right eye. The rinnegan is a cooler pressure in his left, a balance he doesn't recall seeking, armor not actively adorned but defensive nonetheless.

Sasuke is... not in Naruto's living room. He's outside, in loose black clothes with his hair flattened against the back of his neck, held down by some sort of headband that feels entirely impractical for the apparent change in season. Although he can feel sources of chakra like casual, low-lit licks of flames all around him, none of them are pressing. There's nothing sinister in the air, nothing to so much as suggest that Sasuke's being watched, and that lets him relax just enough to quickly take stock of his surroundings.

Against his back is a wall, and he glimpses green-slatted tiles on the roof. On the left is a partially-open, sliding glass door leading to a household living area. To the right, a manicured yard with yellowed stones laid out in a path. There's a gentle murmur from within the home, and the yard is warm and awash with early morning sunlight.

What truly catches his attention, though, framing the door in bold streaks of red and white, are two Uchiha fans.

It's immediately disarming. Sasuke hasn't seen his clan symbol on anything but his own clothing since his travels with Taki. Yet there they are, like pillars of his own memories, the paint seeming to shine. Like a mockery of all he's lost. Like possible pride to regain.

 _What's happening?_ He's still on guard against an attack, prepared for some dog-eat-dog explanation behind his sudden awakening here. It... feels similar to Konoha, this place. And although he supposes it's entirely possible there's a yard just like this in the village — his own fault, maybe, for refusing to explore — that doesn't account for just waking up here, or the Uchiha fans.

Then training kicks in and Sasuke truly _looks_ , right eye spinning, because surely, _surely_ , this is some trick.

But the signs around him are obvious; the Leaf's architectural touches, the unique smells and sounds, the types of trees growing around the yard. It all fits.

The feeling of displacement that follows is both intimidating and disarming. "Kai," Sasuke whispers hopefully, making the appropriate hand sign, and nothing happens. There's no distortion as a genjutsu unravels, no changes in pressure or sensation. Just too-warm air and his own heartbeat quick in his chest. He pinches himself for good measure, but the accompanying pain changes nothing.

He's in Konoha. Or some masterful impersonation, at the very least.

It takes Sasuke a moment to focus on the quiet voices from inside the house. There's an up-and-down change in pitch with a short, chiming tune. He puts his back to the wall again as he listens to a woman laugh pleasantly. She asks someone, "What's the most important thing for a shinobi to keep in mind?"

"Teamwork and perseverance," a child answers with the confidence of experience. It's a familiar voice, cheeky and youthful and just as memory-pulling as the Uchiha fans in some ways. Sasuke finds himself leaning forward, glancing through the glass door at a humble television. It's an interview, Konoha's mountainside in the background, and the child—

"Oh, how wonderful!"

"My dad said it's not what's up here that counts," the boy begins, gesturing first to his head then to his heart, and Sasuke barely tracks the rest of his words because all he can focus on is that blonde, unruly hair and those blue eyes underscored by little whisker marks. "It's what you know and feel here."

_Naruto?_

"And there you have it," another newscaster announces as the scene changes, "straight from our station— a clip from yesterday's interview with Konoha's own Uzumaki Boruto..."

Before Sasuke has a chance to dwell on that (and damn, if that isn't a lot to sift through), he hears hurried footsteps from somewhere within the house. He's already stepping back by the time a young girl reaches the patio door, his hand reaching for the identifying weight of a kunai up his opposite, empty sleeve as he tensely glances her over. She's young, with jaw-length, straight black hair and familiar eyes, and she grips the door handle to swing her weight around as she steps outside. Sasuke tenses as he evaluates her, bracing himself for a spike in her chakra and feeling like a stranger out of his depth in this strange, unknown part of Konoha.

And the girl throws him off guard without even trying.

"Papa!" She plants herself right in front of Sasuke, her hands clasped behind her back as she smiles brightly. "I finished my chores. Are you ready to go?"

Sasuke openly stares.

One breath. Two.

The cicadas begin to reach a crescendo in their enthusiasm, and still Sasuke just stares at her. He knows he's taking too long to answer, and it's evident by the hesitant little frown the girl starts to make. It doesn’t change the fact that he can feel his mind stalling. He opens his mouth, and she begins to look hopeful. He closes his mouth, and she quickly flattens her lips.

Finally, Sasuke asks, "...Papa?"

The girl blushes lightly, and the color nearly matches her outfit. An outfit that is beginning to look alarmingly familiar. "Do you not want me to call you that anymore?"

"No, it's... fine," Sasuke tells her, and it takes all of his self-control to hide how bewildered he feels. He's internally reeling, grasping at the useless metaphorical life vest, because if this isn't a dream or an illusion, then that would mean he's— a _father_.

"Fuck," he breathes disbelievingly.

The girl gives him an odd look, all of that earlier confidence slipping away into uncertainty. "Are you okay? We don't have to train today if you don't want to."

Sasuke clears his throat and shakes his head, silently berating himself both for insensitivity and lack of discretion. It won't do him any good to reveal his ignorance, not when he already feels so off-balance. _Focus_ , Sasuke tells himself. _Evaluate. Adapt._ "Your mother...?" he asks, hoping the topic is safe. He begins to study the shape of her eyes again without really thinking about it.

"Coming!" a voice calls, and Sasuke registers the voice only a moment before Sakura strides through the doorway, workout gloves in hand. "All ready?" she asks, glancing between the two of them with a smile, oblivious to the previous conversation.

"Yeah," the girl answers first, sounding more reserved this time.

Sasuke, for his part, can't stop staring at Sakura. She’s… different, somehow, like a reflection of the woman he saw just yesterday. She's filled out a little, the grim lines from the Third war softened into the resemblance of a gentler kind of living. Her fatigue has dissipated too, and he never realized how much she was working through until now, when she's sporting such comfort and cheerfulness.

Sasuke realizes, after Sakura starts to blush, that he has been staring too long. Again. The whole gawking thing is apparently becoming a horrible trend with him. "I'm ready," he answers belatedly.

Mother and daughter exchange a communicative look. "Um, Sasuke?" Sakura tilts her head to the side, watching him curiously, and for a split second he tenses, waiting for the curtain on this whole charade to collapse. "Why is your sharingan activated?"

Like a pulse, Sasuke feels his right eye spin. He doesn't bother trying to still it. The excuse is a simple one, especially since it's not entirely a lie, so he doesn't have to pause before answering this time. "I just wanted to really look at you two," he answers, letting them interpret that as they will.

"Eh?" Sakura quietly exclaims with a deeper blush, though looking faintly pleased, while the girl smiles genuinely and kicks her toes against the back of one heel. Sasuke wonders if their reactions to the implied affection should be concerning, if it means they're used to callousness. Regardless, it’s hard not to feel some measure of satisfaction in seeing the effect it has on them.

As the girl moves, sunlight glints off the angle of her glasses. Surreptitiously, Sasuke watches as she tucks her hair behind one ear, seeing his family in her coloring and the subtle curve of her lips, seeing Sakura in her posture and the modest line of her nose. But her eyes— Sasuke _knows_ those eyes, swears he's seen them before. He draws on memory, recalls sights and sounds and smells he has carefully kept suppressed because sometimes, lying alone in the post-massacre silence, they were _too much_ , and he tries to imagine those eyes on a different face.

Recollection billows like blood in deep water.

 _Shisui_ , he realizes, certainty seeping in, and it... hurts. They're softer, sure, with Sakura's thick lashes, but the resemblance is _there_. He never expected to see his family again, and now this girl is looking back at him with eyes like a window to the past. All at once, it's easy to imagine family dinners, to hear Shisui hum and laugh over a quiet comment from Itachi, their voices echoed by the distant yowl of a neighborhood cat. To visualize his mother as she brushed the bangs from her eyes and asked his father about his day. To remember what _belonging_ felt like.

It’s irrational. He _knows_ it’s irrational. None of this is probably even real, and he’s seeing his dead family in the eyes of his _daughter_ , but damn if this isn’t the worst kind of longing.

"Sarada," Sakura begins, and Sasuke finds himself mentally repeating the name over and over, like those three syllables can lessen the strange, in-depth haze he's feeling lost in, "why don't you go pack us some snacks and water? We can have a little picnic after we finish training."

Sarada nods, a level of understanding in her mature gaze. "Okay, Mama." She gives them both another quick smile then goes back inside.

Sakura waits until Sarada has made it further into the house before she asks, "Are you alright?" She glances aside, and Sasuke can tell there's more she wants to say, her hesitation like a gray cast over the otherwise bright morning. "I know that last mission was long. If you're tired, we can all go out another time."

And he has no idea what the hell is going on, where or how this not-Konoha might be, and he's certainly not confident about his place in it, but Sasuke finds himself wanting to play into this. To see where it might lead. "I'm just not quite awake," he tells her, and wonders if that's the truth. His stomach lurches at the thought. "Sarada... seems excited."

Clouds pass overhead, casting soft little shadows across Sakura's cheeks as she smiles. "Of course. I think she's hoping to impress you this morning." She slides her hand against Sasuke's, and although it's simple and straightforward and light, there's something comfortably intimate about the way she curls her fingers between his. He's surprised by it, but also strangely intrigued.

"We have... a happy life here," he says, not quite asking, but needing to know.

Sakura's responding smile is telling. "We do," she replies warmly. Her expression softens, the green of her eyes becoming just a little darker, and the look she shares with Sasuke is disorientingly affectionate. "I'm so glad you're home," she tells him quietly, and that's—

Love, he realizes.

Actual love.

"Okay, you dweeb," Sakura teases, flicking him on the forehead just like he remembers doing to her at Konoha's main gate seven months ago. ( _Longer, now?_ ) Then she brushes her fingers gently across his eyes, forcing him to blink. "Is something going on? You seem upset. And the sharingan..." The hand holding his squeezes gently.

Sasuke shakes his head, not sure where to even begin when this entire situation is overwhelmingly wrong. This has to be some trick, some fucked-up subconscious desire he can rationalize once he gets a moment alone.

Unless...

Fear seizes his chest, takes his air and makes it this constricting, sticky knot. _Is this... Infinite Tsukuyomi?_ As much as he immediately wants to dismiss the notion, Sasuke can't deny the possibility. Though, if he is trapped, if Madara and Obito truly were successful, then he's not sure if he should be aware enough to question anything

_And is this really the culmination of what I want? A family?_

It's absurd. It has to be. Sasuke backtracks quickly, confident in, if nothing else, the time he spent traveling after the war. His conversations with Naruto. He has felt regret and solemnity and yearning. Infinite Tsukuyomi shouldn't allow for that.

"Sasuke?" Sakura is watching him closely, her expression becoming carefully scrutinizing.

Right. Sasuke focuses on restricting his chakra pathways, so much like letting out a deep breath, and tries to dismiss the powers from his eyes. There's resistance, though, a pressure fighting the collapse of the connection. He fumbles with the power balance for a moment, feeling uncoordinated like he hasn't since his time as a genin. Finally, with a cool, subdued tingling, the chakra slips away, and the world looks a little duller. He blinks, and it's accented by little black spots. The surroundings begin to dissolve into a wash of shadow. Another blink, and everything is fading.  From somewhere within the house, Sarada asks, "Mama, do we have any apricots left?"

He sees Sakura glance toward the patio door to answer, then everything goes black.

 

\--

 

Sasuke wakes up (again) to fragile dust motes swirling through an early stream of sunlight from the apartment window.

He lies there for a while, cheek pressed to an ugly blue pillow as he takes stock of what he can hear. There are a couple of birds outside the window, and their bright, irregular chirping is only slightly louder than the steady hum of the air conditioner. Sasuke focuses briefly, strains to hear anything else, but the apartment and its neighbors are quiet.

No cicadas. No dream-spun versions of a family. Just... morning, as it is now. He takes a moment to let himself feel the difference, ignoring minutes as they pass. It's difficult not let his mind wander in the early hours when everything is hushed, when the silence feels ripe with opportunity or the bare semblance of foreboding. Like the very air is a breath being held, waiting.

Sasuke's not sure what he's feeling. There's no telltale shakiness this morning, no indication that he surfaced his way out of a nightmare. Only stiffness from an uncomfortable couch, a dry mouth, and tired eyes. He wonders what it says about him that he doesn't immediately dismiss the dream as ridiculous, now that he's awake in Naruto's apartment, but it had felt so _real_.

The psychological evaluation Kakashi is requiring, Sasuke decides, is going to be a _bitch_ if he's starting to dream about future familial love of all goddamn things. On top of everything else.

He groans quietly.

Part of him still can't believe he imagined Sakura as his _wife_. It was weird enough seeing her at the hospital yesterday. Sasuke's still not even sure what to make of his visit, let alone their conversation. He had expected a different type of interaction. Louder words, perhaps. A nasty uppercut to the jaw. Growls and accusations, more of the disappointment she had only subtly shown. He still recalls that young girl waiting at the bench, her fingers curled into small fists as she begged him to stay, declaring love with tears and only a childhood crush for support.  Or the way she used to scream at him and Naruto, eager to back up complaints with her knuckles.

He knows it isn't fair to compare Sakura to her past. She's hardly the same person, but his departure from the village doesn't give him the right to imply that her transition into adulthood didn't stem from a harsh molding of struggles and victories and tragedies. Maybe he just never bothered to truly give her a chance before. Fighting on the Samurai Bridge, he hadn't taken the time to appreciate the changes, hadn't truly thought of anything beyond calculating her demise.  She's got a spirit like fire, though, all bright and resilient and dangerous, and it had fueled his resolve during the war.

Seeing her working at the hospital— that had been different, another piece to the strength of her character. She is beautiful, he admits now. She is the ionic surge before a lightning storm.

The trip to the hospital had been... necessary, in a way Sasuke hadn't anticipated. He needed to gain status as a work-fit shinobi, yes, but events there had also put thoughts and plans into motion, and he knows it's time to stop ignoring them.

He thinks of Kotetsu, and wonders at the way loss manages to strike everyone so differently. Sasuke lost time during the war— time to strengthen the relationships with his team, time to prove himself to the village, time to mourn without having to look both ways for threats. But his real grievances, the pain of loved ones gone, those happened long before Kaguya.

He supposes Itachi might be the exception, as Itachi always seems to be; Sasuke has struggled to accept that particular grievance too many times. He doesn't like to think about all the variations of "good bye" he has endured for his brother. The different forms of bereavement underneath the festering layers of betrayal surrounding the Uchiha name. His convictions were never reliable because of them.

And Sasuke knows grief, has felt it and seen it all too often, but it was easy to remove himself from acknowledging others' misery when he was traveling through foreign towns. Kotetsu was a reminder. He's not a friend, is hardly more than a rough acquaintance, but Sasuke knows him, at least, can remember a time years ago when Kotetsu and Izumo sat grinning side by side as young chunin, and that's harder to ignore.

All thoughts are pushed from his mind when an alarm clock begin to beep. There's a grunt, followed by silence for about a minute. The floorboards in Naruto's bedroom creak ever so slightly, then the door opens, spilling light into the otherwise dim living room. Silence ensues, and Sasuke pictures Naruto standing there, grogginess keeping his eyes half-closed, that typical, mulish frown curling his lips as he struggles toward wakefulness. Despite years of training as a shinobi, Naruto still frequently lets drowsiness steer him through his mornings with stubbed toes, large yawns, and uncoordinated movements. It is something Sasuke has come to expect from him.

Sure enough, moments later, Naruto sighs and heads toward the kitchen. Eyes fixed ahead, he passes the couch with a short and subdued, "Morning." It is a far cry from his typical greetings.

Surprise has Sasuke staring after him. Belatedly, he opens his mouth to return the greeting, then closes it with a quiet click of his teeth, watching as Naruto immediately goes to the fridge. The chirping outside the window is the only conversation for a while. 

With a short exhalation through his nose, Sasuke sits up on one couch cushion and listens to the thuds of cabinets being closed too quickly. He thinks about their brief conversation — or rather lack thereof — the previous night, and realizes with a small amount of annoyance that Naruto is upset with him.

His first instinct is to scoff and consider Naruto's attitude ridiculous, but... maybe he deserves this. Sometimes it's just so easy to offhandedly dismiss all of Naruto's energy because it's always _back_ the very next moment. Sasuke has taken his friend’s easygoing nature for granted more than once, and he’s all too aware that he’s been relying on Naruto's selflessness to call someplace home ever since he returned to the village. But even Naruto has to have a limit to his patience, and Sasuke knows he should make some kind of reparation before he truly wears out his welcome.  

Without bothering to fold his blanket, Sasuke gets up and enters the kitchen. There's a steaming pot of tea on the counter. Sasuke glances at the color and notes that it has been steeped too long. Quietly, he removes the tea bag and uses a dish towel to wipe away some of the excess water puddled around the pot, only noticing Naruto's scowl once he puts the towel back on its hook. "What?" he asks blandly, wanting to just get to the point.

Naruto shakes his head as if Sasuke is being obtuse. "Nothing."

Obviously, that's not the case, and he almost says as much. "Are you going to act like this all day?" he asks instead, leaning back against the counter to watch as Naruto does the facial equivalent of a squawk.

"You can't just— Oi, shithead, it's not fair that you can spend all evening ignoring me, then expect everything to be cool the next day," Naruto complains, slamming two bowls on the counter with entirely too much force. Sasuke notes a hairline crack form in the rim of the bottom bowl.

"I wasn't mad at you," he explains, trying for patience, "I just wanted—"

"To brood?" Naruto offers, fake-helpfully. "Skulk?"

"I was not _brooding_ or _skulking_. I wanted time to myself."

"That's what you've had all week. And it was, like, only six o'clock," Naruto insists, looking somewhat disbelieving.

"So?"

"So it was fucking rude."

Sasuke can't help but roll his eyes. He's vaguely irritated that Naruto is making this about himself, when Sasuke already told him that that wasn't the case, but he doesn't want to come across. "Okay."

With a longsuffering sigh, Naruto tilts his head back to give the ceiling his flat look before saying, "Forget it. You still acted like an ass."

Sasuke catches himself working his jaw. His teeth grind together shortly. "What did you want me to do? Gush about my day?"

If anything, Naruto manages to look even more annoyed. And it occurs to Sasuke, _That's probably exactly what he was expecting_. Sasuke hasn't been accountable to anyone in years. Even as a member of Team Seven, when they weren't actively training or working through a mission, he had been responsible for himself. He hadn't wanted help or any form of social mercy. He hadn't opened up to his teammates beyond admitting to his plan for revenge. And at night, behind the stoic, indifferent walls of the Uchiha compound, it had just... been him. A symbol for a broken clan. A child left to turn into someone else. His family was gone, and behind those walls, he was on his own.

In the flame-lit corridors of Orochimaru's hideout, Sasuke had been required to report on his progress. On his training, his ability to kill both precisely and wildly, his proficiency at becoming the cold-blooded creature the Sannin so desired. But he had rarely been asked about _himself_. He had been an opportunity for the Snake, a tool to be molded and strengthened until he could become a vessel. Sasuke's personal opinions, his efforts through the more mundane aspects of life, hadn't been important.

He realizes, now, how different things have become. It makes him feel slightly out of his element, because he's not sure if he can fully participate in this kind of relationship.

"Well," Naruto snaps, breaking Sasuke from his contemplation and messily cracking a couple of eggs on the side of the counter, "you could've at least had the courtesy to ask about mine."

Sasuke looks down and shrugs, all too aware of the admission in averting his eyes. He reaches for an apple, then a knife, and begins to cut the fruit into even slices. It helps to have something to do with his hands. He's generally a patient person, but not an idle one. "Your meeting," he guesses suddenly, glancing up to judge the reaction.

Naruto stares blankly for a moment, an eggshell in one hand. "What?"

"The meeting for the draft that was written up. The one on clan integration. How did that go?" He places each slice in a line the counter. Watches as Naruto's expression settles into something less aggressive.

"Oh." A blink, a little huff of air. "It was good. A bit dull, I guess, but I really liked the proposal. I think... it'll be good for the nin world. Despite the counter arguments, I think it'll bring the villages together, and provide support for some of the smaller towns." He stops suddenly, changing the course of his speech after a little shrug. "Shikamaru sat in as well. It's pretty incredible how he can maneuver the mood in the room or whatever. Like we all know he's a genius strategist when it comes to battle, but it’s different seeing talents in peacetime." He grimaces then, and it's subtle and gone in a second, just a delicate wrinkle of the eyelids, but Sasuke catches it all the same.

Peace is still a long way off.

"How are rights to bloodline limits going to be dispersed?" Sasuke asks.

Naruto nods and hums shortly. "Yeah, that was one of the major disagreements. There's some talk about attributing rights to the original clan, but." He brushes his hands off suddenly, and reaches for a glass of water. He sips slowly.

"Many clans were wiped out except for one or two surviving children," Sasuke quietly finishes for him. 

Naruto nods, doesn't say anything. Takes another sip of water like it can force morose words down.

"And for two inheritance limits?"

"Eh, that's still being loudly debated," Naruto admits. Then, after a moment, "The rough draft suggested that clan size and strength should be the main determinants." He pauses, waiting, and Sasuke reacts predictably.

"Fuck that." He taps the point of the knife against the counter. "It's biased, and a fucking lazy conclusion. I'm not going to be subservient to another clan just because I'm the only Uchiha left."

Naruto smirks with pursed lips, his entire expression slightly crooked. "Nah, don't worry, Sasuke. Nobody wants to marry you anyway!"

Sasuke flicks the knife toward Naruto and isn't surprised when the half-assed effort is casually caught. Naruto's obnoxious "heh heh" still makes him grit his teeth, and for a brief moment all he can imagine is his dream and the way Sakura's hand fit in his. "Whatever," he snaps, clenching his fists to get rid of the feeling. "Even you have to admit that would be a piss poor system."

"Probably," Naruto agrees, setting the knife gently on the counter. "Yeah. But no matter the solution, there are going to be unhappy parties. That's politics. We just have to do our best to build a future that will benefit as many as possible."

Sasuke arches one brow. "That's lofty of you," he drawls. "I wasn't aware you were campaigning."

Naruto blushes despite his scowl. "There's nothing wrong with thinking ahead. And if anything, I've been a proponent of change for years. Now I can just," he waves one hand back and forth, "actually do something about it. I gotta work my way up like everyone else."

"Being the village's _golden boy_ , at least you won't have to work too hard," he sneers. Almost immediately, Sasuke regrets his words; he knows better than most just what Naruto has overcome. The hell he went through as a child. He remembers all too well the harsh and wounded pettiness the village had to offer its blond, infamous orphan. He hesitates, wondering how to lessen the sting, but Naruto is already moving the conversation forward.

"Wow." Naruto shakes his head and snorts. "You really are a jerk sometimes, you know?" Turning back toward the bedroom, unfinished breakfast temporarily forgotten, he adds over his shoulder, "I don't have any illusions about this. I still have a lot to learn. A _lot_. But at least I'm trying."

The implication is clear enough. Sasuke runs his hand through his hair roughly once Naruto is out of sight, wondering why the hell he can't just have an easy conversation with anyone. Why he feels so bitter and uncertain. He's tense in the shoulders, wound up with frustration just under his skin like a persistent itch.

In the living room, sunlight spills into the apartment from the window, and Sasuke gravitates toward the light without really thinking about it. One tug, and the old hinges twist open. A cool breeze flutters some of the loose hairs by his cheek.

He takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly.

Naruto returns from his room with a thick, white shawl clenched loosely in one hand. "And I don't know why you're acting so distant about improving the future," he adds, looping the shawl so that the center can fall across his shoulders. "I know you care."

Sasuke hums noncommittally, already wanting to forget about the whole conversation. He eyes the white cloth closely. "What is that?"

Naruto freezes with one arm still awkwardly lifted. "Oh, um... It's just something to wear to meetings. I'm not officially on the council or anything, but some of the members think I should follow dress code since, you know, I'm aiming to become Hokage." He fingers the end of the shawl, tellingly uncomfortable, and Sasuke knows he should just drop the matter but—

"You look stupid."

The white is reminiscent of Danzo and the elders, actually, but Sasuke has enough tact — and untempered bitterness — not to say as much. It's a tradition, probably. A stupid fucking tradition, but that's Konoha, he thinks.

(And he's careful not to dwell on his own promise to become Hokage, not when he can't even face the village truly. Not when Naruto is standing right in front of him like this.)

With a quickness beguiling of the childish glare on his face, Naruto wraps the shawl into a messy bundle and throws it at Sasuke, who catches it deftly. " _Asshole_. It's a _respectable_ representation of my _goals_." He tsks and scratches his cheek before abruptly pointing at Sasuke. "And you're one to talk! You wore that ugly rope-belt outfit like you were modeling it!"

Sasuke feels heat in his cheeks despite his effort to look impassive. "I didn't choose the uniform."

"Uniform?" Naruto splutters, torn between laughing and glaring. "Yeah, well, could've fooled me with the way you kept clinging to that purple belt."

Sasuke clenches his fist around the shawl before rubbing the material between thumb and forefinger. Cool air from the open window presses against the back of his shirt. "Hn. Whatever." He takes a moment to watch his old friend, curious at the way Naruto's scowl slowly dissolves into this confused sort of expectancy when Sasuke just stands there. He wonders how much Naruto really could have changed in three years. Thinks, maybe, it's a shame he's waited to find out. "Hey, dobe," he says abruptly, letting his expression form a challenge. Which feels natural, easy, and immediately seizes Naruto's attention.

Bracing himself on the windowsill, Sasuke swings his hips and leaps feet first through the window. Within seconds, he's racing through the streets, using corners and construction projects to leverage his momentum into sharp turns. Chakra trickles into his feet, keeping his steps steadier as he gains speed. He passes several civilians, their started intakes of breath like an audible recording of his path. Subtler are the whispers and exchanged glances between shinobi, who look wary and somewhat confused as he passes by.

But Naruto is louder and brighter than everyone. He's somewhere in the close background, a flash of orange pants darting between people with hasty apologies and one angrily heartfelt, "Sasuke!"

It's stupid and noisy and unprofessional and so typically _Naruto_ that Sasuke smiles despite himself. He can't help but recall all the times Naruto used to race through the streets as a child, paintbrushes or other incriminating items in hand. Sloppily transfigured jutsus against vendor walls and Umino Iruka a bristling authority figure in Naruto's wake. Those were mornings Sasuke doubts he'll be able to forget.

Maybe it's typical _him_ , as well, since Sasuke was the one to start this ridiculousness in the first place. And that's a doozy of a thought, but not one he has time for right now.

He's careful to maintain his balance through turns, especially through the busier streets. In order to avoid running head-on through a row of vendors, he leaps to the side and runs along the side of a house, propelling himself over an open window and past a lazy hawker. Not far behind, there's a small crash, followed by a hurried apology from Naruto, but Sasuke doesn't chance looking back.

Past the vendors is temporary road to the right. There's an open area beyond that, a few acres of flat, grassy land with telltale scarring that speaks of a training ground. Sasuke veers toward it, and the sudden change from packed street to forgiving earth feels welcome beneath his bare feet. He takes a second to scan the area, noting a few stray, knee high boulders, a wooden post, and a young copse of trees. Inspiration seizes him just as Naruto arrives, and he sprints toward the tallest tree, ducking his head slightly against Naruto's bellowed, "Give it back, bastard!"

Then, using chakra to augment his throw, Sasuke flings the shawl toward the highest branch, feeling a small measure of satisfaction when it gets tangled amongst the twigs and leaves there.

There's pressure at his back, the barest suggestion of a threat, and he spins around just in time to block Naruto's kick, dropping his opposite shoulder and letting the attack glance off his forearm. There's a follow-up kick, hastily dodged. Naruto leaps to the side, and they circle each other for a moment, both of them waiting for an opening, both of them knowing they won't get any real one. It's a standoff for tempered predators. "So, this is how it's gonna be, huh?" Naruto asks, lips twitching despite his scowl.

Sasuke decides to change the tempo first; he takes a wide stance, planting his left foot forward and keeping weight back on his right toes. It's a straightforward position, an aggressive one, and Naruto's grin is fierce when he rushes it.

They press each other in a flurry of movements, trading punches for leg sweeps and palm strikes for knee jabs. Sasuke feints a hit and manages to get Naruto by the throat before his hand is plucked off and he's forced down by his captured wrist. He follows the slight pain, doesn't fight it, and uses Naruto's weight to twist them both to the side until he can swing his leg into a roundhouse. The impact of the kick earns him a grunt, and Sasuke takes advantage of the successful hit to put a little distance between them again.

Naruto is quick to follow, though. He bursts forward, moving in that broad, expressively gutsy way of his that Sasuke has always been grudgingly amused by. Sasuke has to rely on groundwork precision to maintain his balance, blocking with his one arm when he can, maneuvering around Naruto's attacks when he can't.

The sudden cheering takes him by complete surprise.

Two young voices raise in unison, offering short but loud whoops from somewhere near the edge of the training ground. Sasuke feels himself flinch mid-step even as he notices Naruto's fist moving toward him. The children look like a chaotic swirl of color in his periphery, some watercolor bleeding into his attention despite the fact that he hadn't noticed them before. Trepidation settles heavy in his stomach, disorientating because he knows there won't be a young Uchiha girl standing there, and Sasuke's not sure if his anxiety is outweighed by his disappointment. Then he's tensing, Naruto's knuckles like some calloused focal point, and everything is just— too much.

His reaction is instinctual, an abrupt shift toward something more primal, toward the skin-crawling need to avoid pain. Sasuke lets chakra trickle into his limbs as he swivels under the attack and retaliates with a punch of his own. Almost too late, he tries to lessen the blow, but Naruto notices, blue eyes widening before he likewise calls on his chakra.

The colliding strike resounds with a _snap_ , its mild shock waves chipping away at the ground and sending both fighters stumbling back.

"Ow!" Naruto gripes shrilly, shaking out his hand with a wince. "What the _hell_ , you cheater. Way to just—" He shuts his mouth when he sees Sasuke's rueful expression, glancing between him and the two Academy-aged children on the sideline with dawning realization. "Hey," he starts with a laugh, clearly surprised, "you got distracted."

Sasuke shakes his head quickly. "No," he lies, refusing to look at the children as he brushes his bruised knuckles against his pants.

"I can't believe it," Naruto muses.

"Well," Sasuke slurs, "isn't that a new twist?"

It takes a moment for Naruto to understand, but when he does he blushes and rubs the back of his head. "Yeah, alright." He looks past Sasuke at the children and returns their excited waving with a smile. They laugh, delighted, and run back to the main street together. Naruto lets out a long, easy sigh and lowers himself to the ground, sprawling his legs out in front of him. Leaning back on his hands, he tilts his head to stare at the tree branches above them. "You okay?"

Sasuke sniffs before replying. "Yes."

"You don't normally get startled like that." Naruto pauses, squinting, and amends, "At least, I don't think you do."

Sasuke almost defends himself, but it doesn't really matter, and Naruto is right. He isn't sure why he didn't immediately notice the children, didn't sense their low levels of chakra as they approached the training field. He had recognized his own reaction, though. The nearly inexorable impulse to shift his attack; to confront, to rend, to eradicate.

All in defense, Sasuke tells himself.

"So what was that for?" Naruto asks, glancing toward the limp white shawl still fluttering in the breeze.

"Hn." He sits down beside Naruto and crosses his legs, considering. "I guess I just felt like it." Naruto snorts at that, and a single bead of sweat runs from his hairline down the side of his neck. It catches the light, glistening against Naruto’s sun-kissed skin like some sheer pearl. Sasuke openly watches until Naruto glances over at him. "You know," Sasuke tells him quietly, "when you started to put that shawl on, you reminded me of the Third."

It's not exactly true, but he thinks about it now. Knows how much Naruto will appreciate hearing it.

Sure enough, Naruto presses his lips together and stares back toward the village. "Thanks," he answers, a smile finally showing through. "I hope I can do them proud. All of them."

 _You will_ , Sasuke thinks.

"So why didn't you tell me you and Sakura are getting breakfast tomorrow?" Naruto asks suddenly.

He frowns defensively before he can help it. "How the hell did you already find out? And why would I need to tell you if you seek out gossip anyway?"

Naruto's scoff is less than impressed, and he leans over to roughly bump shoulders with Sasuke. The warmth it leaves behind lingers. "I ran into Sakura on my way home yesterday, and she mentioned it." He nibbles on the inside of his lip, then asks quietly, "Hospital visit go okay? I'm assuming that's where you spoke with her."

"Fine," Sasuke says quietly, watching as the grass seems to leech color as it's moved by the breeze.

(He can still hear Tsunade's medical verdict like it's on repeat in his mind.)

"Alright," Naruto says, equally quiet but trusting. He kicks his legs up once, clearly trying for some energy when he changes topics. "I think Hinata and I might go out again, I don't know. It was a little... awkward?"

Sasuke hums uninterestedly, then blinks and looks up. "You went on a date with Hinata?" And suddenly, he thinks of that boy again — _Boruto_ — whose large, curious eyes and round cheeks had seemed less like Naruto and more like someone else. Now it's obvious, all the little Hyuuga traits intermingled with Uzumaki qualities.

Sasuke's not sure what to make of that part of the dream. Isn't sure if he _should_ make anything of it. It's entirely possible that his subconscious had picked up on something between Naruto and Hinata, even if he hasn't seen Hinata in months, hasn't really spared a thought for the girl since he deserted. Sasuke spotted her on the battlefield six months ago, a furious purple blur among a sea of struggling and broken bodies, earning nothing more than a glance from him as he rushed into the bloody fray. She's probably gorgeous now. And Hinata has the Hyuuga name behind her, a clan that maintained status despite its fair share of losses.

She's the kind of person a future Hokage would look respectable with.

It shouldn't be a surprise that Naruto's seeing her, not when he ponders it, especially considering how hard the girl crushed on Naruto during their genin years. Only he feels faintly annoyed, and a little foolish for not connecting the dots sooner. Eerie, too, since his dream so accurately outlined a future he hadn't consciously considered.

Maybe it's jealousy, Sasuke wonders.

(He crushes that thought before it can gain any traction.)

And regardless of his failure to track the children earlier during their spar, Sasuke definitely notices the newcomer watching from the lengthy shadow of the closest training post. He trusts that Naruto does, too, and mimics the lack of concern. 

"I told you about the date," Naruto insists, his stare a touch incredulous. "Yesterday morning."

"I just thought it was a normal lunch."

Naruto rolls his eyes and offers a short laugh. "Uh, not quite."

"Why was it awkward?" Sasuke inquires, knowing it's the right thing to do and only sounding a little bored. He refuses to admit to any real curiosity.

"Eh," Naruto hedges. "It just sort of felt weird? Like maybe it was just a 'first date' vibe, but the conversation felt, mhm, strained."

"Oh."

They both look aside when the observer near the training post casually begins walking over. Konohamaru throws up a lazy wave, smiling unreservedly from behind his blue scarf. "Hey, you two," he greets. His glance is somewhat reserved when it falls on Sasuke, but friendlier for Naruto, and it's easy to remember him as a rambunctious front to Ebisu's team. "Sorry to interrupt—"

"You just gave up on waiting for something more interesting!" Naruto butts in, grinning knowingly. He holds out a loose fist suddenly, which Konohamaru bumps all too animatedly.

"You know it." Konohamaru laughs. "I wasn't here in time to catch the spar. I had to fish for _something_ entertaining. Next time, fight longer."

Naruto's laugh is quick and easy. "Sure thing. What's up, anyway? How’s my favorite intern?"

"I’m good. I just thought I'd let you know that you have, oh, twenty minutes until the head accountant presents his plan for the season. Assuming," he adds cheerfully as Naruto's expression sours into something comical, "you're still supposed to attend that?"

"Shit," Naruto groans. "Sasuke, could you maybe...?"

"What?" he asks suspiciously.

"Bring me some lunch? Since you sort of ruined breakfast," Naruto points out.

Sasuke smirks, still casually seated on the ground. "Not a fat chance."

"But—!"

"I didn't force you to come here."

Naruto scrubs his hands over his face and curses under his breath. "Fine. Whatever." He turns toward Konohamaru and offers a quick thank you, then races up the tree to retrieve the shawl. Within moments, he's chakra-sprinting back toward his apartment. Probably to retrieve shoes, Sasuke reasons amusedly.

Konohamaru continues to stand there, shifting from one foot to the other comfortably. "Are you really going to let him go hungry?" he finally asks, side-eyeing Sasuke.

Sasuke shrugs. Doesn't feel like committing to anything, even if he might find a way to have lunch delivered later. Maybe.

"You know," Konohamaru says slowly, "I always thought you were an ass. But hell, I'm glad you're back on our side."

Sasuke finally stands at that, feeling stiff and tense again, but Konohamaru is staring in the direction Naruto ran in. After a moment, Sasuke glances that way, too. "See you later."

"Yeah, man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly appreciate the comments and kudos many of you have left on this story. Thank you so much for the support despite the wait between chapters. 
> 
> On a side note, I try to reference canon details to keep histories, abilities, and relationships accurate, but if anyone notices any glaring contradictions feel free to let me know.


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